Idee Fixe
by DizzyUpTheGirls
Summary: If he didn't count, if everything didn't add up, something terrible would happen. Edward knew that. He knew that his sister would have a terrible accident, or the basement would suddenly flood, or his dog would run away. A short story about OCD.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The world in which I play doesn't belong to me. I do, however, have a raging case of OCD.

A/N: Umm…this is my first story, though I have been a reader for a long time. It will probably be short, and I really have no idea what I am doing. Be gentle. (That is, if anyone is actually reading this)

Oh, and I have no beta, so….yeah. Although, the run-on sentences and odd structure are on purpose, it's just the way my mind works.

* * *

"_One, two, three_."

"_One, two, three_."

"_One, two, three_."

Edward Cullen had been standing in his living room, trying to make his way out the door, for the last fifteen minutes. He was supposed to meet his adopted sister at the diner before going to his doctor's appointment. Alice only had an hour long lunch break, and he was wasting precious time performing his rituals.

He couldn't stop.

If he didn't count, if he couldn't be sure that the stove was off, that the coffee maker had been unplugged, if everything didn't add up, something terrible would happen. He knew that. He knew that his sister would have a terrible accident, or the basement would suddenly flood, or his dog would run away.

So he would count.

And he would check, and re-check, and check again.

And thirty minutes after he had begun, he would call Alice and tell her he wouldn't make it. She would tell him it was okay. She would say she understood and that they could always have lunch tomorrow.

And he would hate himself for standing her up.

Then, tomorrow, he would do it all again.

* * *

When Edward was eight years old, his parents were killed in a house fire.

There was nothing that could be done.

He stood on the front lawn, in his Transformers pajamas (the kind with the feet), and watched as the only home he had ever known and the only people he had ever loved burned to the ground.

Ms. Thompson, the next door neighbor, who always smelled like soup, kept one fat arm around his shoulders and one large, sweaty hand on top of his head and said things like, "It will all be okay," and, "Don't worry Edward, it's alright."

But he knew better. It wasn't okay, and it would never be alright again.

He was alone.

His parents were dead, and if he had had the capacity to think logically about the tragic accident, he would have realized that he was lucky to be alive. But that's not the way Edward saw it.

No, his synapses fired and the message was sent bouncing around his brain that he had not quite done enough. He had failed his family.

He had run out of the house when the smoke alarm sounded. He had made his way over to Ms. Thompson's and banged on the door until he felt the front porch tremble with the weight of her as she headed down the front hall.

In a calm voice, he had informed his neighbor that his house was on fire. And then, he waited.

He waited among the peonies in his mother's garden for the firemen to come. He waited for his parents to appear, perhaps a little worse for wear, with black soot smeared across their faces and their clothing. (That's what always happened in the movies.)

He waited and waited and waited.

And in those tense moments, he began to realize that maybe he could have prevented all of this.

If he had just made sure that all of the appliances were shut off (His mother was very flighty, and possibly had forgotten), or if he had thought to double check that his father's cigar had gone out (They were often left smoldering in the ashtray Edward made in art class, when all the other kids were making vases and candy dishes.), if he had just done _something_ other than run as fast as he could, maybe he wouldn't be standing in the flowerbeds with his cow of a neighbor.

He hated Ms. Thompson.

* * *

When Edward was nine, he was adopted.

He had spent the past year in a group home (No one let him make ashtrays out of clay, or even vases or candy dishes.) with other "special children."

He didn't think he was special, but who was he to argue? Or even argue with for that matter. He was largely ignored. If he hadn't been looked over, if he hadn't blended in so well with the pale white walls and _smoky_ black shadows, perhaps someone would have realized what was happening.

It had started innocently enough. Just a quick trip to the kitchen to cast an eye on the knobs of the stove…_off_…then a trip around the house to test every light switch…_off, off, off_.

With the help of a small step ladder (The house mother was very short, indeed) he tested smoke alarms in the dead of night.

And with the help of a boy named Patrick O'Connor, he learned to say _Hail Mary_ and _Our Father_ and pass the pretty blue beads of a borrowed rosary through his fingers. He prayed with more devotion than all of the Catholics in his sleepy little town, combined.

He prayed for the other "special children" and he prayed for the elfin house mother, and he prayed for every person he could possibly think of. Even Ms. Thompson. He prayed for safety, and he prayed for souls, and he prayed that no harm would come to anyone on his behalf.

After all, he had already caused the death of his parents. It wouldn't do to have more blood on his hands. (He was already washing them twelve times a day at this point; any more would just be weird.)

If he forgot a name in his nightly benediction, well, he would just start over from the beginning. Between the checking, and the counting, and the washing, and the praying, he had little time for anything else.

So, it came as no surprise that he was unaware of the fact that he was about to have a new family. (Not that he would have been happy about it; he would have been too frightened for their lives.)

It came as quite a shock when a tall man with blonde hair and kind eyes arrived at the foot of Edward's small bed. He patiently waited for the little boy to finish his prayers (The man had no way of knowing that this particular ritual could go on for hours).

Just as the litany reached its crescendo, the man's throat began to tickle, and a tiny cough escaped his lips. The little boy froze.

He would have to start again.

Before the first words of supplication could be spoken aloud, the house mother joined the tall man in Edward's room. She told the boy that _Doctor Cullen_ was here to visit. That _Doctor Cullen_ wanted to meet him, to talk to him, to possibly take him to a new house to live. _Doctor Cullen_, the house mother said, had apparently been visiting for weeks, looking for a child who needed a family, for he had a family that needed a child.

Edward had never noticed him.

Now that he had noticed, he wasn't sure what to do.

How could he tell this man (_Doctor Cullen_) that taking him home would mean certain death? So, Edward said nothing. He merely rubbed the little blue beads of his borrowed rosary (Hmm...Patrick would want those back he supposed) as he wondered who this man (_Doctor Cullen_) was and he wondered why he would want to adopt a murderer.

After a time, _Doctor Cullen_ left, promising to return the next day with his wife. (Mrs. _Doctor Cullen_? Edward wondered.)

_Doctor Cullen_ kept his promise the next day…and the next…and the next. And finally, after weeks of visits, (And no small feat on Edward's part to hide his rituals as best he could) Edward left the group home for "special children."

And, _Doctor _and Mrs_. Doctor Cullen_ became Mom and Dad.

* * *

Main Entry: **idée fixe**

Pronunciation: \(ˌ)ē-ˌdā-ˈfēks\

Function: _noun_

Inflected Form(s): _plural_ **idées fixes** \_same_\

Etymology: French, literally, fixed idea

Date: 1836

**:** an idea that dominates one's mind especially for a prolonged period **:** obsession


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Thanks to MP for the nod on Fictionaters. I don't really know how to go about promoting this, or even if I ought to, so thanks for doing it for me.

Thanks for the reviews, and thanks to all who didn't review, but put me on alert. It kinda makes me all warm inside.

Please excuse mistakes. I have no beta, and I have a hard time concentrating on silly things like commas and grammar.

* * *

The first time Carlisle Cullen visited the group home, he didn't really notice Edward. That's not to say he didn't see him, Edward was kind of hard to miss. (That having something to do with the Transformers pajamas he always wore)

Edward was quiet and easily overlooked. He was mild mannered, never caused trouble, and spent most of his day tucked away in prayer. Not exactly what Doctor Cullen was looking for in a son.

You see, Doctor Cullen already had a daughter, Alice. Alice was…difficult. Not in the way that young Jimmy Collins was difficult (He was the neighborhood deviant who got off on killing small animals). No, she wasn't that kind of difficult.

She was loud. She was always in motion. She always wanted things her way, and usually got them.

In short, Alice was a spoiled brat. (Definitely her mother's fault)

Carlisle and his wife, Esme (Or, Mrs. _Doctor Cullen_, as Edward would come to think of her) had tried for years to have children. After many failed attempts, they were blessed with Alice. The birth was hard on Esme, and her doctors encouraged her to be happy with the child she had and give up on dreams of a bigger family.

Well, little did they know, no one told Esme Cullen what to do. (Although she sometimes let Carlisle _think_ he had authority) Six months after she brought Alice home from the hospital, she began her quest for the perfect second child.

She wanted a son; a little boy that she could dress in sailor suits and penny loafers and sharply pleated khaki pants. (No one had ever accused Esme of having good taste) He would be the perfect playmate for Alice.

They thought it would be easy. All that needed to be done was a quick trip to a third-world country or a large sum of cash slipped under a table in their lawyer's office. They would have their perfect son in no time.

When reality settled in, they found themselves buried under a mountain of paperwork and numerous home inspections. (Not to mention a truckload of Alice's dirty diapers) Carlisle finally convinced his wife that they should wait until the baby was a little older to resume their search.

Years passed, and when Alice turned five, they knew the time had come. She needed a playmate. Carlisle had grown tired of apologizing to the parents of screaming children who had been forced, by Alice, to serve as her pony, or her husband, or her student, or whatever role she deemed necessary. (This was often done with brute force as Alice was curiously strong for a toddler)

Perhaps, if she had a sibling, an older child who could handle her incessant whining, (and mean right hook) things would settle down. Carlisle could only hope.

* * *

The search had led the Doctor to the St. Ambrose Children's Home. And much to his delight, he found it was rather less complicated to adopt an older child. No one seemed to want them. They were deemed "broken" or "unlovable" or "incapable." But Carlisle knew better. They merely needed someone to take the time and have the interest in loving them and teaching them to love. (He thought himself the perfect candidate for such a daunting task)

So with resolve, and an overabundance of hope, he began spending time with the children of St Ambrose. The more effort he put in to getting to know the boys at the home, the more he realized that none of them seemed like the right fit.

There was Billy Jenkins, who was the right age, but had a penchant for stealing little Millie's underwear. (For no other reason than he wanted to wear them himself; she had the prettiest ones) Or Scotty Murphy who was perpetually getting into fights. (The last thing he needed was someone who would encourage Alice's desire for violence)

He had just about decided that Patrick O'Connor (with his mild voice and devotion to Catholicism) may be the perfect fit when he overheard some of the children talking about Edward. As he pretended to study the artwork displayed on the plain white walls (It seems the children were going through a macaroni and pipe cleaner period) he kept an ear open to the gossip around him.

Billy Jenkins was asking little Millie if she noticed that Edward had been moving about the house long after lights out. (In reality, he was testing how deeply she slept, hoping for a chance to steal more of her under things) As Millie replied in the negative, Billy's eyes lit up. Trying to keep up the charade, and draw the attention back to Edward, Billy went on to tell her about Edward's fascination with the smoke alarms and light switches and appliance knobs.

Carlisle's ears perked up at that. Being a doctor, he had an innate need to fix things. (Whether it be a broken toy or a broken child) He began to concentrate less on finding a playmate (punching bag) for Alice, and instead turned his attention to the shy boy in the footie pajamas. (The day he saw Edward come downstairs in said pajamas with his blue sneakers resting over his covered feet, he also began to wonder if Edward had any other clothes to wear)

The next time he visited (The day he ruined Edward's prayers, undoubtedly causing someone a painful death) he made sure to bring gifts. After the house mother explained his presence to the little boy, Carlisle handed him a little blue polo shirt, a pair of sharply pleated khaki pants, and some loafers whose tassels matched the ones on the doctor's own shoes.

Edward's eyes grew round as he reached out for the clothing (Although the thought of taking off his pajamas was a little daunting) and he gave an almost silent word of thanks. Carlisle told him he would be back the next day to visit and turned to leave with a little spring in his step.

At home, he told Esme he had found the perfect little boy for their family. She listened as he told her about Edward's past (the house mother had be very forthcoming) and about the little "quirks" that the boy seemed so determined to hide. She admitted to have some misgivings, but she trusted her husband's judgment. (It may have also helped that Edward seemed appreciative of the clothes she had sent him)

Over the next several weeks they visited the little boy, getting to know him as well as they could in the environment of a group home. They never let him know that although he thought he was doing a good job at hiding his rituals, they weren't fooled. It simply didn't matter to the Cullens. They already loved him and wanted him regardless.

After a long talk with Alice (And reassurance from her that she would try to refrain from bullying her new brother) they decided it was time to bring Edward home; to make him a Cullen. They passed through the formalities of the adoption with relative ease, prepared a room for him down the hall from Alice (Esme decided that a jungle theme was appropriate), and went to bring their little boy home.

* * *

By this point Edward had already (somewhat obsessively) fallen in love with his new parents. They had been added to his long list of people to pray for and he had already begun to fear that they would be taken away from him. Despite his worries, he had been up since dawn, waiting for them to arrive. When he noticed Carlisle's shiny black car pull into the drive, he propelled himself down the stairs. Wearing his new clothes, and armed with a brown paper bag containing his sneakers, footie pajamas, and the rosary Patrick had been kind enough to let him keep, he walked outside to join his family.

Esme held the door open for him as he slid into the back seat. They had decided to leave Alice at home with the babysitter (Whom they hoped would be injury free when they arrived), thinking it would be easier to introduce the children there. The drive across town was spent in relative silence, Edward rubbing pretty blue beads and Carlisle hoping that Alice would keep her word. Esme spoke from time to time but was largely ignored by the boys. (Although, Edward did hear her say something about jaguars and monkeys, which left him awfully confused. Did the Cullens live on a wild animal preserve?)

When they arrived at the Cullen's, Edward was happy to see that his new house, although large, seemed rather comfortable and homey. (He was also relieved that it was not, in fact, located on an animal preserve) He felt at ease, which was somewhat of an odd feeling for him. He liked it. Just as he was contemplating this new development, the front door burst open.

A little girl with black hair and blue eyes ran down the steps and stopped just in front of him. (Carlisle and Esme were holding their breath) She looked at him curiously before grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. As they disappeared down the hallway that lead to their bedrooms, Esme stood in slack-jawed shock. Not only had Alice not made demands for a game of house or school or even a tea party, she had actually whispered words of affection and encouragement to her new brother.

A slow smile spread across Carlisle's face. He had made the right decision.

Suddenly, they heard a sharp gasp. For a moment they were afraid that Alice had been unable to resist Edward's tempting pale skin. (It would undoubtedly bruise easily) Esme ran down the hall, with Carlisle close on her heels. When they reached Edward's room, they were surprised to find him huddled in the corner, his head in Alice's lap as she stroked his hair.

His eyes were wide with abject horror and his new parents began to wonder if this was all too much, too soon.

(Little did they know Edward was merely trying to decide which was worse; the menacing yellow eyes of the black panther Esme had painted in the jungle mural on his wall, or the neat row of sailor suits that hung in his new walk-in closet.)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** To answer some questions I have been asked…

**1.** Yes, Bella will be in this story. (You are about to meet her, in fact.)

**2.** As far as length goes, I am thinking 6-10 chapters. But, you never know, inspiration may strike and I may go on longer.

**3.** No, I will not have an updating schedule. The reason being that there is simply not enough interest.

**4.** No, I still don't have a beta. Yes, I would love to have one. However, I am not kidding when I say I have OCD, and I will probably drive a beta crazy. I am constantly second guessing, and I get delayed by my anxiety.

**5.** Yes, some (not all) of Edward's rituals are based on my own.

Thank you so much to everyone who is reading, reviewing and PMing; you make my day, every day.

* * *

When Edward was twelve, he fell in love.

It was real love. Birds chirping, sun shining, rainbows in the sky and butterflies in his stomach love. (And it only took 3.27 seconds to happen. He counted, of course)

Her beautiful brown hair and wide chocolate eyes caused every cell in his body to simultaneously contract and relax. The urge to count, to check, to obsess was minimized the instant his eyes fell upon her. (Or so he thought. He hadn't noticed that he merely redirected his counting to the flecks of gold in her tresses)

He was only half listening as the teacher introduced the goddess at the beginning of class. Isabella Swan, the new police chief's daughter. (At this point he was already naming their future children) His plans to ask Carlisle if they could look for carbon monoxide detectors after school changed immediately. He was going to have to pay a visit to the Chief, though the very thought of that sent his anxiety skyrocketing.

He rubbed the rosary he kept hidden under the collar of his shirt, trying to ease the tension.

It wasn't until lunch that Edward began to notice that something was not quite right with Isabella. He couldn't put a finger on it but something about the way she talked and the way she carried herself didn't ring true.

He was sure that when she had stood in front of their class, hands wringing, a prettyrose blush spreading up her cheeks, he had detected a hint of the north in her accent. As he listened (Inconspicuously, he hoped) to her speaking at the worn Formica table behind him, in between bites of a turkey sandwich, her words came out with a tinge of British. (Surrey, he believed)

He filed it away in his perfect memory for later perusal. He had no time to think on it now; he had a limited amount of time for hand washing before heading back to class. Backpack slung over his shoulder, (Weighted down with 5 bottles of antibacterial soap, handi-wipes, and hand sanitizer) he made his way to the least used boy's bathroom.

After drying his hands, he carefully used a handi-wipe to grasp the door handle before pushing his way out into the hall.

His breath hitched.

His heart hammered.

His pupils dilated, and his brain turned to mush.

_Isabella_. (Love of his life)

And Mike Newton. (Vile, smelly bastard)

Luckily, his locker was right beside them. He spun the dial on the combination lock (Torn between wanting to let Isabella see, in case she wanted to slip him a love note or a token of her undying faithfulness, and wanting to shield the numbers from Mike's odious glare) and pretended to dig around for a book.

Newton had just said something, apparently humorous, and Edward's goddess had her head thrown back in laughter. (Jealousy, that evil bitch, reared its ugly head, and stabbed him in the gut) Mike was making her laugh.

Mike _could_ make her laugh. Mike probably didn't get anxious at the thought of human interaction. Mike surely didn't count the tiles in the floor, the bricks in the wall, the cracks in the sidewalk. Edward was positive that Mike didn't wash his hands properly (If at all) and he knew that it was improbable that he spent his nights worrying over the fate of humanity.

Mike was something that Edward could never be. Normal.

Edward's plans changed again as thoughts of meeting with Chief Swan and procuring the honor of dating his daughter fled from his mind. He just wanted to go home.

* * *

The weeks dragged by. Every day Edward watched with a heavy heart as Isabella attracted the attention of all the boys at Forks Elementary. They followed her everywhere. Tyler carried her books, Mike stood in the lunch line for her, and Eric filled out her worksheets. They were pathetic. (Edward doodled her name, _Isabella Cullen_, over and over again on the inside of his Trapper Keeper, but no one needed to know about that.)

Even the girls fawned over Isabella. They began dressing like her and laughing like her and some even began to smell like her. (Alice informed him it was Love's Baby Soft. Naturally, he bought a small bottle to keep under his pillow.) It seemed to Edward that Isabella had everything.

Which is why he was shocked to find her crying in the library during lunch one Friday. He had stopped in to do some research for his science project (Actually, he wanted to see if the latest R.L. Stein title was out, but he would never admit to that) but before he could make it to the card catalog, he heard the sound of someone sniffling.

He followed the soft whimpers thinking he could offer help, or at least a silent prayer, if needed. What he saw when he turned the corner broke his heart. Bella was sitting with her back against volumes 1-20 of the Babysitter's Club, clutching a tissue in her hand, her face stained with tears. (And maybe a little snot, too) He stood silently for a moment before making a decision that would forever alter the course of his banal existence. (That sounded a little dramatic, even in his head, but he went with it)

He walked softly over to Isabella, bent down beside her, reached for the tissue in her hand, (Must remember to wash hands soon) and carefully began wiping the traces of her sadness from her perfect face. She tensed for a moment, but gradually relaxed under his care. He asked her if she was okay; she merely nodded. After giving her a few moments to collect herself, he asked if she would like to talk about it.

She told him how her plans had blown up in her face today, and that her life was ruined. You see, Isabella was from Ohio. OHIO. Where nothing ever happened, where life was drab, where farmers grew corn and factories shut down and people said things like, _At least it's not Detroit. _(Edward wasn't really sure what that meant, or why she thought Forks, population 3,120, was any better. But, he kept his mouth shut)

When the Swan family arrived in Washington, Isabella decided that the kids here didn't have to know where she came from. They didn't need to know that she was boring and plain and had never done anything interesting in her whole life. So she lied, a lot. Every untruth that slipped past her lips made it easier for the one to follow. Pretty soon, even she had trouble discerning the truth in her own words.

She told Mike Newton that she spent the last two years in a British boarding school. (Hence the fake accent, which was really quite convincing) Then, she went on to tell Tyler Crowley that her winter breaks were spent dining with the King of Finland and hunting reindeer in Lapland. (Now that should have been a giveaway Edward thought. Finland was not a monarchy, everyone knew that) Of course, when Jessica Stanley asked, Isabella got confused on her time lines (Her lies were getting out of hand) and made the mistake of saying she had been in France.

It only took a few days for the pieces to fall into place and only minutes for the disastrous confrontation in the lunchroom that Edward had obviously missed. Jessica, annoyed that Mike's attention had been taken away from her, began pointing out some of the holes in Isabella's story. Loudly. In front of everyone.

Edward felt terrible for his angel. He knew what it felt like to be ostracized and he certainly wanted to take some of that pain away from his beautiful goddess. So slowly (And with a surprising lack of regard for sanitation) he slid his hand into Isabella's and began to tell her his story.

And in that quite corner of the Forks Elementary School Library, on a stained patch of rust orange carpet, secrets were shared and souls were bared, and love blossomed in an unlikely place.

* * *

A/N 2: I mean no disrespect to Ohio or Michigan or people who live there. I don't want to debate Unions and outsourcing and the way our government likes to fuck its own people in the ass, but I am from a "Rust Belt" city, and spent a year living in the Buckeye State. I'm just calling it how it is. At least in the area I lived.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Ummm…hi. I have been staring at this blank word document for about 23 minutes now (you know I counted) trying to come up with the words to express how I am feeling in this moment. Here are a few of them…humbled, awed, amazed, stupefied, shocked, nervous, thrilled, worried, anxious, ecstatic, giddy, flabbergasted (that's a good one), daunted, and maybe a little intimidated. But, none of those words are quite right. So, I'll just say this. Thank you.

Thank you to _WhatsMyNomDePlume_, to _americnxidiot_, to _JenNnN_, and to every new reader and reviewer. It's _possible_ that I may have gotten a little weepy when I woke up to over 70 new alerts and several new reviews. I am incredibly _. (Insert any word from above list)

I want to particularly thank _WhatsMyNomDePlume_ (Noms? Plumey? WMNDP?) for reminding me of what is important; that I am happy with what I put out there. I was starting to worry a little too much about how to please the masses (ok, maybe not "masses," but you get the point) when she talked me down by reminding me to be pleased with my own work and not give a hoot about the rest. It's just gravy.

* * *

When Edward was 13, he quit going to therapy.

He walked into his doctor's office, right past the play area, ignoring the candy dish, and pretended not to hear Rosie (the devil receptionist) screaming his name. He ignored the puppets that were supposed to make it easier to talk about his birth parents, kicked aside the crayons he was supposed to draw his feelings with, and he flopped down on the child-sized couch, pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "This isn't working, doc."

It's not that he didn't want to shed his anxious skin; he just didn't like the way he felt afterwards. Raw. Exposed. Like someone had taken a steel wool pad to his soul, scrubbing and scrubbing until all the grime fell away, revealing shiny pink skin. (Much like the way the backs of his ears used to feel when Esme bathed him as a child)

It hurt, and not in a good way. Not the way he secretly liked to feel pain. Pain that made him feel like he was atoning for the night he stood and watched fiery destruction. That kind of pain he needed. Just like he needed the accompanying rituals to soothe the ache it left behind. But this torture, no, it was too much.

So he quit. He stood his ground when Doctor Emmett tried to persuade Doctor Cullen to continue bringing Edward to his appointments. And Edward would not be moved when Carlisle and Esme tried to talk about it further at home. He turned a deaf ear to his father's pleading and a blind eye to his mother's tears. He stomped out of the kitchen with a jar of peanut butter and a bag of pretzels (Germs be damned!) and made his way to Alice's room to wait them out.

He wasn't going back.

He didn't need cognitive-behavioral therapy.

He had Isabella.

* * *

Isabella had been by his side since that Friday afternoon in the library. And he had stood by hers when she had to face the reality of her lies; when all of the friends she had worked so hard to make turned their backs. They were left at the fringes, not to be bothered with, and most certainly not to be talked to. (Not that that changed anything for Edward, he had always been labeled a freak)

Luckily, they had Alice. She and Isabella had bonded instantly (Well, Alice may have threatened physical harm if Edward were hurt in anyway, and if she refused to come over and play dress-up) and were now as close as siblings themselves. Alice's reputation kept the taunting from ever going further than words, but sometimes Edward could still detect the pain in Isabella's eyes.

He knew how badly she had wanted to be popular. She wanted to feel special, to feel loved and adored and all the things she missed out on in her home life. She told Edward how her mother had spent one year with her after her birth. One year was all it took for Renee Swan to know that no child and no husband and no white house with a picket fence could possibly be worth giving up her dreams. So she left. When Charlie was at work and sweet baby Isabella was down for her nap, the bitch took off without so much as a note.

Her father, she told him, had become a shell of the man he once was. There were home movies, she said, where he could be seen, mustache twitching in laughter, tossing his daughter in the air, blowing kisses at his beautiful wife who was running the camera. Then there were the other movies. The half-hearted grins, the eyes filled with pain, the sad attempts to interact with a little girl who reminded him of a woman that he did not want to be reminded of. These were taped by her Godfather, Billy, and they broke her heart.

It became her goal to make him happy. She began to give and not take, to hug even when he didn't hug back, and to say the words he rarely spoke out loud. She knew that he loved her, he proved it in his actions, but sometimes Isabella needed words. So, she began to seek them elsewhere. She craved approval and attention from everyone around her and she was not above lying to get it.

* * *

Through it all, the young couple began to heal each other in ways no one could have imagined. When Edward showed up on Chief Swan's doorstep, complete with flowers for his love and a bottle of sparkling cider for her father, Charlie considering sending him away; his daughter was too young to date. Yet all it took was one look at Isabella's face, one overheard snippet of conversation in which his daughter told _not one_ lie, for him to make up his mind.

This boy was changing her.

When Edward overheard his mother's lamentations of, "He's just a boy," and "It's way too soon, Carlisle," he was ready to fight tooth and nail, to argue with Esme for the first time ever. He would not be torn from his angel. But he needn't worry; his father could see what his mother could not.

"That girl is changing him."

When Isabella was near, Edward could relax. That's not to say he didn't get anxious, that he didn't _need _to count and wash and check and re-check. He just felt a little more in control over it all. She felt like a balm to his burns, soothing and cooling, even when the sting still lingered underneath. (Take _that_ Doctor Emmett and your stupid puppets too)

And he was her truth serum. She could no more lie to him than she could chop off her own hand. So she slowly began leaving the deceptions behind. They trailed along behind her like so much discarded clothing. She forgot she was boring, she forgot she was plain, she forgot that she had knobby knees and a flat chest and had never actually been to Finland. She learned to just be. To sit and breathe and _be_ with Edward.

* * *

**A/N 2:** Yes, less parenthetical asides and less humor in that one. (And a little bit short, sorry) That's how it'll be sometimes. Perhaps I should re-categorize this pile-o-crazy. What do you think?

I have a lot of work things going on this week, so the next update may not come so quickly. Please bear with me.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Wow. The last week has been crazy. Thank you to_ JeNnNn _for the gorgeous banners (links on my profile), to _MrsTheKing_ for recommending Idee Fixe to all her Twitter followers, (I owe her for about 200 reviews) to _WhatsMyNomDePlume_ for pre-reading and of course to _revrag_ for offering me her beta skills.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, many of you humbled me greatly with your beautiful words. I tried to respond to everyone, and I hope I did, but if I missed you, thank you.

Oh, and I am on Twitter (link on profile) if you want to follow. I am a little shy about posting my thoughts for the world to see, but I am working on it. If you want to ask me questions about OCD in general, or my struggle with it specifically, I will be happy to reply. (There is also a link on my profile that will take you to TONS of info on living with OCD)

This wasn't going to be posted until Monday, but I found out I'll be working overtime all week so I wanted you to have it now. A lot of you have asked for more Alice, so this chapter is a little peek into her mind. If it seems like it's a little different, that's because it is. Alice isn't Edward.

* * *

Alice Cullen loved her brother, she really did.

When her parents first told her she would be gaining a sibling, she was a little worried. She had been told by her father that she had to be nice to the boy, that she shouldn't hit him or force him to play with her. That had been disappointing news since she knew no other way to interact with her peers.

Fortunately for Alice (and Edward) this little boy was different. She could tell, even at her young age, that there was something about him. He needed a friend. He needed her. With that realization, she grabbed his hand on his first day at their home and never looked back. It had mostly been smooth sailing from there. (There was the tea party incident, but she wouldn't be telling anyone about that.)

The first few weeks of living with Edward did require some minor adjustments. He often wandered around the house, nervously wringing his hands, staring at light switches and kitchen appliances as if waiting for them to _do _something. Alice didn't understand his preoccupation, but instead of asking him about it, she merely followed him around. If he needed to check, she would check with him.

He was terribly afraid that the house would burn down, it seemed, and, without question, Alice helped him move lamps further away from curtains and tea towels away from the stove. She began hoarding batteries (and even went as far as to include a 12 pack of nine-volt's on her birthday list, earning a worried glance from her mother) so that Edward could replace the ones in the smoke alarms with regularity. After all, she didn't want her brother to be frightened.

In return for her kindness, for just letting him be himself, Edward allowed Alice to dictate much of their free time. He spent countless hours in her room playing the games that she picked out, helping her to rename her stuffed animals, and on one occasion allowing her to dress him up. (He drew the line at Esme's silver heels, though.)

The first year of having a brother was glorious. Alice liked to be needed. (She found it infinitely more satisfying than punching Jimmy Collins in his special place, which was saying something.) But after Edward met Isabella, things began to change.

* * *

The first time Alice heard the name _Isabella_ slip from her brother's lips, she couldn't have known that the girl he spoke of would alter their lives. He had been particularly sullen on that afternoon. She remembered so well because it had been such a surprise. She had expected Edward to be elated due to the assembly the entire school had been in attendance for earlier that morning. (Smokey the Bear had been the guest speaker.)

But even National Fire Prevention Month couldn't calm the storm in Edward's soul that day.

Alice watched helplessly as he paced back and forth, little loafers wearing tracks in the plush carpet of his room. His hands pulled at his hair and tugged at his rosary and his eyes wandered aimlessly as vitriol spilled from his mouth. "_I'll never be enough, I'll never be normal, I'll never have Isabella_." For the first time, Alice didn't know what to do.

Over the following weeks, she tried her best to be what Edward needed. She deferred to him often, walked on eggshells, kept her voice down, and when nothing seemed to break through his self-loathing, she threatened to punch him in the throat. He didn't even hear her.

Tired of seeing her brother wallowing in misery, Alice resolved to speak to Isabella the next day at school. However, when she woke up, a peculiar feeling tickled at the back of her mind. Something was different, though she couldn't explain what it was or how she knew. It just was, and she just did.

She was_ sure_ that the tide was about to turn.

Alice would never forget that Friday in October. Edward had come home late from school, floating on air. He breezed right by his little sister, not even stopping to be sure the microwave hadn't spontaneously burst into flames. And he was humming. _Humming_. That was new.

* * *

After all the necessary warnings had been dispensed, the _twosome_ became a _threesome_ and life was good for a time. Alice relished her new role as protector, threatening anyone who dared to speak out against her brother and her new best friend. God help them if she happened to overhear. (Just ask Mike Newton and his aching left testicle.)

Alice could tell that being with Isabella helped Edward's anxiety. He still worried, flitting around the house after dark, checking and counting and praying, but the tension wasn't so evident around his eyes. The weekly fire drills he insisted on dwindled down to once a month, and he began sleeping in his boxers, cartoon pajamas forgotten in some dusty dresser drawer. (_And good riddance_, Alice thought. She had finally had to cut the feet out for him when he grew too tall, and they just looked ridiculous.)

It wasn't until she stumbled upon a private conversation between her parents that Alice realized things might not be as good as they seemed. According to them, Edward was _repressing_. She wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but it didn't sound promising. It also seemed that Esme was afraid that someday, everything would crumble. Isabella's father might want to move away or another boy might catch her eye or she might realize one day that she is a _lesbian_. What would happen to Edward then?

Alice considered her mother to be a natural worrier, and tried not to put much stock in what she had heard. She knew that her brother depended on Isabella, but he also had their parents and Alice and Doctor Emmett. Things would be fine.

Then, Edward stopped going to therapy and Alice began to find little white pills in the bottom of the toilet, refusing to be flushed down. Edward was becoming overconfident. He was putting too much trust in Isabella, bowing at her alter of worship, and ultimately, unknowingly, put his life in her hands. It was too much power for a thirteen year old girl to wield. She would break under its weight. And what would be left of Edward when she did?

That tickling sensation at the back of her brain had returned, only now Alice had no confidence in its meaning. As she sat in the kitchen, watching her mother prepare breakfast, she was reminded of a nursery rhyme that Edward had recited to her when they were younger. But instead of _all the king's horses and all the king's men_, this time it would be Alice left to pick up the pieces.

* * *

**A/N 2:** Alice and Edward's "tea party incident" will be posted as an outtake (as well as Edward's first session with Dr. Emmett) when Idee Fixe is complete.

Also, if you see this story recommended somewhere, please let me know in your review so that I may thank the person responsible. (With that being said, thanks to _hongkongphooey_ for reccing IF in the latest chapter of _Fill My Little World_.)


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: There are lots of questions I want to address, but I feel like an ass when I take up half the page with an A/N. Luckily, _MrsTheKing_ has made a thread for _Idee Fixe_ on Twilighted. To my knowledge, it's not visited often, but I will be happy to post teasers, ideas, answers…whatever you guys want. (Link on profile)

I'm truly sorry for the wait but I had a cold, which turned into pneumonia, which landed me in the hospital, which put a damper on my writing.

Thanks to _revrag_, this chapter wouldn't exist without her input and to _MojoPen_ and _WhatsMyNomDePlume_ for pre-reading .

* * *

Edward was getting better. He knew it.

Deep in his bones, right in the pit of his stomach, he could feel it. All of his problems were melting away, like the snow that had recently blanketed the back yard.

What he didn't know, what he couldn't see, was that not unlike the melting ice, this run-off of his mind was also tinged with black. (Only instead of gravel and grit, this filth was born of something darker within himself.)

While on the outside (and even a little on the inside) life with Isabella was perfect, Edward had forgotten the fundamental rule. If there was one thing Doctor Emmett had tried to impress upon his young patient it was this:

"You have to do this for yourself, Edward. You have to want to overcome, you have to have the drive and the will and the strength. Your family and I will help you, but you must take the first step."

If Doctor Emmett could see Edward now (Well, if he saw him _right now_ he would get an eyeful of white briefs, it was early yet) he would be able to predict exactly what would happen next. There was too much hope invested in a budding relationship, not enough faith in self and no trust in conventional treatments.

It was the classic recipe for disaster.

Add one pinch of self-doubt; throw in a little co-dependence, top with sudden withdrawal from fluvoxamine and viola! You've got the perfect _watch-those-poor-kids-crumble_ crumble.

* * *

On this particular day, however, nothing was going to stand in Edward's way. He was about to embark on the most important moment of his young life. He was finally going to take Isabella on a date.

Over the past year, their time spent together had been limited to school hours and the occasional chaperoned trip to the multiplex in Port Angeles. While Edward appreciated every moment he spent with his beautiful angel, he couldn't wait to be alone with her. (It was rather counterproductive to quote Shakespeare to your girlfriend while her father was two rows back, snickering into his popcorn.)

When the sun began to peek through the trees on that fine Saturday morning, Edward was waiting for it; practically vibrating with excitement. As soon as he was sure he could get away with the noise, he raced to the bathroom and began to get ready. Isabella would arrive at 2:00, which meant he had only eight hours to prepare. There was a chance he wouldn't make it.

He showered as fast as he dared, being sure to wash everything in the right order, lest he have to start again. After toweling off and arranging all of his toiletries just so, he got to work on his hair. He had always hated the rat's nest that sat on top of his head. It was unruly, disorderly, disobedient. It was the one part of his body that he couldn't command, that went against his need for control. (Well, maybe not the only part, but he wasn't comfortably thinking about that other rebellion that seemed to be happening more and more.)

Twenty minutes, and two palm full's of Alice's hair gel later, his bronze locks were plastered down, parted on the left side, the way Esme always told him made him look like a little gentleman. He stared at himself in the mirror and wondered what Isabella saw in him. He was grateful for whatever it was that drew her to him, but he just didn't see it. Although things between them had been wonderful, he often worried that he wouldn't always be enough for her. Shaking his head to rid himself of the destructive thoughts creeping in, he turned his back on the scared little boy in the looking glass and made his way downstairs.

His shiny, tasseled shoes clicked on the tile in the kitchen as he began preparing for the day ahead of him. He took comfort in the sharp, staccato noise and began to count. _One, two, three…one, two, three…one, two, three_. He felt his heartbeat slow, evening out, its measured rhythm doing even more to calm his frayed nerves. Everything had to be perfect. For just a moment he considered that maybe he should have taken one of his little white pills this morning, but he quickly pushed that thought aside. He wanted, no he needed, to be able to do this on his own. He could be whole for Isabella; he could be a _real boy_.

* * *

Several hours later, Isabella stood in the middle of the most beautiful meadow she had ever seen. The wind tousled her hair, which tickled her nose, which brightened her already mega watt smile. This was perfect. There were wildflowers everywhere, their cloying scent thick in the back of her throat. If she hadn't already known that she was head-over-heels in love with Edward, this would have been the moment it hit her. This was perfection.

She took a moment to watch as he sat down the heavy bag he had been carrying all the way from the Cullen's house. He looked especially handsome today, and she had trouble keeping her wandering eyes from wondering. (What would he look like without that button up shirt on?) She heaved a small sigh at the lascivious thoughts running through her mind before asking if he needed her help. Of course, being the gentleman that he was, he wouldn't hear of it. Isabella resigned herself to watching the way his body moved as he began to unpack their supplies.

Edward began by pulling a large, blue tarp out of the bag on the ground. He carefully spread it out on top of the thick grass, making sure to kick any offending rocks out of the way first. Once the tarp was in the correct spot (He made several minor adjustments, but as far as Isabella could tell, he hadn't really moved it much at all) he then laid a large blanket over top of it. Isabella began walking toward him, glad there was finally somewhere to sit. She didn't make it far before she noticed the look of distress on Edward's face.

He smiled apologetically before telling her there were just a few more things he needed to fix before they were ready to begin. His hands went back into the bag, and he brought out a silver solar blanket that he spread on the ground beside their pallet. (You never know, he said, what might happen; it's better to be prepared) On top of the solar blanket he arranged a small transistor weather radio, a flashlight that could be hand-cranked if the batteries were to run out, two solar flares he had absconded from Carlise's emergency road kit, and a small, portable fire extinguisher. (Just in case) Isabella wanted to be supportive, but she couldn't resist teasing him. After all, if you squinted hard enough, you could see the umbrella on Esme's patio furniture through the trees. (Edward reasoned that this did not mean that help would necessarily get to them on time, many things could go wrong.)

When Isabella was finally allowed to be seated, Edward gave her a tentative kiss on the back of her hand before he began arranging the lunch he had brought. Isabella just stared at him in shock. He had never, ever kissed any part of her before. (Something about microbes, she wasn't really paying attention) Edward merely went about his business as if nothing had happened.

With enough food to last if they really were to become lost spread out before them, (Nothing made with mayonnaise though, E-Coli was a bitch) the two young lovers settled in for a day of freedom and romance.

After the mess from lunch had been cleaned up and Edward had properly disposed of all trash into the designated receptacles he had brought along, he settled down on the blanket, arms under his head. He knew what he wanted to do next, the whole reason he had wanted to bring Isabella to this meadow, but now that the time had come, his malfunctioning neurons were trying to talk him out of it.

He thought about everything that could go wrong. (What if he couldn't deal with the thought of all that bacteria, what if his breath was bad, what if his recently persistent problem popped up again?) Edward had almost talked himself out of doing the one thing he had been dreaming of for over a year, when a soft noise of contentment pulled him out of his growing anxiety. He looked over at Isabella stretched out in the sun, a small smile on her face, her eyes closed, and he knew he could do it.

He moved in closer, only to pull away and spray a little Binaca into his mouth before sliding up next to his angel again. Isabella's eyes slowly opened, heavy with the effects of warm sun and a full belly. He held her gaze for a moment before reaching out to cup her cheek in his hand. "I just want to try one thing," he said.

Isabella knew what was coming and she couldn't have been more thrilled. Her heart began to race; sweat popping out around her hairline and on her palms. She wanted to wipe them off on the blanket, but she was afraid to make any movement at all. She knew that any little thing she did could startle her sweet boy and she most certainly could not bear it if he were to stop.

Ever so slowly, Edward moved his lips towards Isabella's and with a brush so light she almost thought it her imagination; he touched his mouth to hers.

Suddenly, microbes didn't matter, anxiety disappeared and the only thing in the world worth knowing was that nothing had ever felt like this before.

* * *

**A/N 2**: _JeNnN_ has been nominated for a Hidden Star Award for her wonderful Idee Fixe banners. Please vote for her. thehiddenstarawards(dot)blogspot(dot)com

I was nominated also, and although don't really know how I feel about that, I appreciate those who nominated me. There are lots of wonderful stories nominated in all of the categories, so please go and vote for your favorite.

One more thing to address: Some of you have been asking me about how Edward could just stop therapy and medication at his young age. Well, technically, unless he was court ordered into therapy, the only thing to keep him from quitting would be his parents. And in this case, they are being pushovers. With the meds, yes, it's dangerous for him to stop them, especially without anyone but Alice knowing that he isn't taking them regularly, but it's important for the story that he begins to feel a little invincible, which wouldn't happen if he were relying on the meds. And, finally, the medication Edward has been prescribed is an SSRI. (Selective Serotonin Re-uptake Inhibitor)

See, if people used the Twilighted thread, those who don't care wouldn't have to wade through my words. Maybe I will see some of you there.


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